


Battle Wounds

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [7]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Daddy Gallavich, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Scars, cuddling- sort of, post season five I recon, they built a fort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:03:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian shook his head, eyes giving out that glint that told him he probably did have a fetish, he was always that little bit weird but in a good way. “Nah, I'm just interested. I want to know the rich tales of the one and only Mickey Milkovich through his battle scars.”</p><p>The raven-haired boy scoffed, hitting the top of fort lightly, “Seriously, man. You've been reading them books too much, I ain't no knight in shining armor.” He turned to his side, facing his fuck-sakes-beautiful boyfriend, who someone looked good with whatever he was doing. Yev was snoring a little, his little hand clutching to Ian's shirt. Them too and their closeness was something Mickey couldn't get over yet, he wished he could be more like Ian. In ways more than one.</p><p>Ian and Mickey talk about scars in their built fortress</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> I was given a prompt ages ago to do with scars, I don't have the reference but I just had it written down ahahaha, so here it is

They were lazily, lounging on their make-shift fortress that they had made for Yev, Ian had insisted that they made one out of _all_ the quilts and pillows they had around the house. Of course at first Mickey was rejecting the idea because they had literally only just cleared out all of the suitcases that were chucked around, and Ian had a thing about making the house messy just so he had something to clean in weeks to come. Svetlana was still pretending, and rinsing the rich fucks out of their money, to be a noble abiding citizen, who wasn't a whore giving out handjobs for over eleven bucks a wank. Iggy was out doing god-knows what with his car, that they finally got back, so they had the house to themselves. Yevgeny was asleep between them, his little head resting against Ian's open arm. 

 

“Where's this from?” Ian asked, fingers trailing over a scar that was visible at Mickey's shoulder, under his black tank top. They had been talking about which superhero would be the better fuck and it caught Ian's eye, there were a few that did. Mickey never talked about his scars, well – he talked about the ones on his ass, only because Ian saw them on a regular basis, and he was there when they happened.

 

Consciously Mickey shrugged Ian's fingers off, trying to pull the fabric of his shirt over the scar that he only, but vividly, remembered. “What the fuck does it matter, its just a scar Jesus.” His voice was soul whisper, he couldn't have Ian rambling and a screaming baby all at once, he had enough of that already. Sometimes he just needed a little bit of silence so he could elope himself into the content breathing of the other man.

 

Giggling, Ian persisted to graze his fingers over the sensitive mark, not caring if Mickey would freak out because he knew either of them could shout with a sleeping baby between them. “Come on, Mick. I won't tell, I pinky swear.” He winked as he pulled out his pinky finger and wiggled it before Mickey's scowl.

 

“What are we, fucking twelve? Fuck off.” He swatted Ian's waiting finger out of the way, shuffling himself closer with the impression Ian didn't know, but that fucker always did. Ian's eyes were boring into him and he wasn't sure how to feel, or how to rid of the gaze he wanted so much. Inhaling he prepared himself to actually open up for once. “Knife, Terry thought it would be better than using a bottle.”

 

Ian could sense the other boy didn't want to elaborate so he didn't push, he moved his hand to another spot that caught his interest. “And this one?” He shot an eyebrow as he felt Mickey tense underneath his touch, his fingers were against the line of blood rushing to Mickey's dick situation or pure ticklish torture.

 

“Iggy's sling shot, lethal weapon I fucking tell ya.” Mickey giggled to himself, hand ghosting over the area that hadn't clouded his memory of not having a total deprived childhood. Ian's mouth curled up into a smile that matched Mickey's, his finger fell to Mickey's thigh- it wasn't exposed but he knew it was there. “Was jumped down the alley, some fucker had a massive knife stuck it right in there.”

 

The redhead gulped guiltily, he hated how many scars Mickey had, he hated that he wasn't there to protect him – even if he couldn't, really. Mickey shouldn't have that many scars and still be able to shove them off like they didn't even hurt. “You get them back?” He asked, already knowing the answer by Mickey's trademark smirk.

 

“Of course I fucking did, that shithead couldn't walk for months. Nabbed a bag of weed out of it too, strong shit aswell.” Mickey nodded his head with a grin, earning a smack from his boyfriend, which was usual since he had created a no-swearing-when-in-the-room-with-Yev policy, that wasn't exactly working because Svetlana swore all the fucking time. “Why you asking me all this anyway? Got some weird scar fetish or some shit.” 

 

Ian shook his head, eyes giving out that glint that told him he probably did have a fetish, he was always that little bit weird but in a good way. “Nah, I'm just interested. I want to know the rich tales of the one and only Mickey Milkovich through his battle scars.”

 

The raven-haired boy scoffed, hitting the top of fort lightly, “Seriously, man. You've been reading them books too much, I ain't no knight in shining armour.” He turned to his side, facing his fuck-sakes-beautiful boyfriend, who someone looked good with whatever he was doing. Yev was snoring a little, his little hand clutching to Ian's shirt. Them too and their closeness was something Mickey couldn't get over yet, he wished he could be more like Ian. In ways more than one.

 

"You're mine." Ian blinked, already knowing Mickey was progressively rolling his eyes. Without warning Ian reached over and grabbed Mickey's ass. “What about this one, are you proud of your war wounds Mick?” The little shit winked, always doing it to stifle Mickey up – he knew which buttons to press, not just the ones that made Mickey shout with annoyance, the blood-pulsing ones too.

 

“Fuck off, I got them bullet holes helping your ass. You better be grateful.” Mickey pointed his finger towards Ian in a warning way, “Hey, its quite convenient that's it on my ass.” Mickey simply stated, tilting his chin up.

 

“Whys that?” Ian asked, suddenly perking up with interest. If anything involved Mickey's ass he would be all fucking ears.

 

Pushing back the laugher that was building in his throat, Mickey bit his lip. “Because it symbolizes that you're a fucking ass, don't it?” He was grinning like a child who had just found a bag of candy, or money – either way, he looked fucking pleased about what he had just said.

 

Ian shook his head and the atrocious attempt of a joke, “No. Just no Mickey. Anyway, its on your ass so it shows your fucking personality. Guess that makes us both asses, huh?” Ian rambled on, poking Mickey as he spoke each jab getting harder as his eyes widened with pretend intimidation, that he already knew never had an effect on Mickey.

 

Mickey shot a glare, smacking Ian's arm, that was still wrapped around his ass. “What about you? You got any scars that show how strong and tough you are?” They usually played this game and usually it would end with heated sex and clashing teeth as they would try to kiss eachother with too much passion and too much force. But usually they didn't have a baby in-between them, so that could wait.

 

“Hm.” Ian tapped his chin, reaching down to his knee and patting it. “Lip kicked me off a bike we stole from Shiela, when we were nine.” He reached behind his ear, a little burn that Mickey knew too well. “Mandy thought it would be funny to see how close the lighter could get to it, nearly burnt my fucking hair off.”

 

“Your hair is already like fire, so wouldn't really make a difference.” Mickey pointed out, one of his hands stroking Yev's tummy as he breathed delicately. He slapped at Ian's bicep, giving him the taste of his own medicine from hitting mickey whenever he slipped out a curse.

 

Ian grabbed the smaller boys frailing arm, “Mick I would have no hair, how would you like me being bald huh? Wouldn't be too fun grabbing onto skin while I'm fucking you.” He rose an eyebrow, knowing he was right. Mickey had a tendicy to grab hold of the red strands whilst they were at it, it was like some werid-habit that instantly got Ian going. 

 

The redhead chuckled at Mickey's questioning silence, carrying on with his routine of looking for scars. Mickey hadn't gone through all of his own, so he could skip a few of the deep paper cuts and staple marks that some how rested on his body. He had the scar just by his eyebrow, but they both knew not to talk about that one because it was Mickey who had placed it there, a long time ago.He tilted his chin up, pointing to a dark line that some-how Mickey had never laid eyes on whenever he would suck against the skin of Ian's neck. “Me and Lip got high one night and – right don't fucking laugh.”

 

Mickey raised a hand in surrender. “Right, I fucking won't.” Ian hit him against the head, knocking his face a little. “Ow, that fucking stings you know.” Yev stirred next to him, crawling further into Ian's warmth, his head resting at his arm pit protectively. Mickey scoffed to himself, that was his spot and his kid, who was _way_ much cuter by the way, had replaced him with his little chubby fingers and even though Mickey might be a tiny bit jealous, it looked cute as fuck.

 

 

“I hit myself in the face.” Ian confessed, straight-faced. He waited for Mickey to run his drill of belly laughter, but all he got was Mickey's pursed lips forcing themselves to be shut, the laughter just on the brim of bursting. “It's really, really dumb. But me and Lip were really high, after like four joints each, so I basically was gone. He dared me to punch myself in the mouth, and I missed fucking obviously – shit, fuck- shit.” He spluttered as he noticed he had been swearing around Yev, he regained himself and carried on. “It was for twenty bucks, who would say no to money that could buy me more weed, y'know?”

 

“Was the twenty bucks worth it? I would of bunked that shit up to fifty” Mickey shot him a questioning look, after a barrel of laughter flew through his body.

 

"You would." Ian whined to himself, hiding his face against the little hairs that were ontop of Yev's head. “He didn't even give it to me, I was bleeding like everywhere and he just chucked me another joint. That fucker, I still haven't got him back for that.” he lifted his head to find his boyfriend smirking, hands clearly twitching for a smoke but he held himself back.

 

“Well, nothings fucking worse that bullets to your ass. So count yourself lucky that you have an asshole of a brother.” Mickey nodded to himself, shifting his dead elbow around to get a little bit of blood flow back into it. Ian was looking at like he always did ; hunger striking in his eyes, that passion that Mickey would never want to let go.

 

“I can put something else in your ass.” Ian winked, licking his lips as he saw Mickey shift awkwardly. The raven-haired boys body had tensed, muscles clear to see through his slight lift of his shirt that revealed his happy trail. God, that kid was always fucking horny – not that Mickey cared, but soon the head board of their bed was going to break off and Mickey didn't want to be the fucker who would have to fix it.

 

Mickey shook his head, he couldn't do this now – not when his kid was soundly asleep next to them. “Christ, Ian.” He whined, eyes facing Ian's smirk, trying to distract himself from those plump fucking lips that he wanted to taste so much. “Yev is right there, so fucking forget it.”

 

“You've never complained before.” Ian winked, already pulling himself up from the lump of pillows and blankets he had been lying on, he gently lifted Yev to his chest, chuckling down to his groaning boyfriend who, for some reason, continued to rub against his eyes like he was trying to block something out.

“Put him to bed and Maybe I'll let you stick it in.” Mickey suggested, watching as Ian went with his fatherly routine of whispering to Yev, little words that were so sweet to the ear, patting and stroking the babies back as he moved himself slowly towards the entrance of the home-made fort.

 

Just as the redhead kissed at the babies head, and reached the hole that was most likely the smallest door to a fort, known to man he turned to Mickey. “Such a fucking romantic.” In return he was hit with a flying pillow to the face.

 

A couple of minutes later of Mickey waiting and hitting his hand against the blanket that was above him, Ian pounced back into the fort. “So, I'm I fucking you in the castle, Mick?” he slid himself between Mickey's legs, resting his face just breaths apart from Mickey's. The brunettes chest heaved up, touching Ian's that was suddenly bare due to recent events of Yev dribbling all over it.

 

“You say that shit again I'm going to blow this fucking castle down.” Mickey teased, one hand reaching under Ian's jeans and grasping over his ass – something he had missed through the couple of hours trying to calm the kid down.

 

“I can do that too, but I'll just stick to blowing you.” Ian seductively spoke, his mouth kissing under Mickey's riding shirt and further and closer to the waist band of his visible boxers. Mickey was already groaning, sweat already forming against his forehead, he looked up to the barely thick blanket and mentally sent a fuck off to anyone who might walk through the front door, because no one was fucking this shit up.


End file.
